


and so winter turns to spring

by MidwesternDuchess



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, THEY’RE ONLY SEVENTEEN, god anyway okay here’s an AU nobody asked for, let Dima and El be siblings I’m begging you IntSys, sometimes ya gotta deliver your own content ya feel, the lack of Dima & El content on this site is viscerally upsetting, the same as all my AUs, they never!!!! talk!!!!, which like I know is the root of the game’s plot but consider:
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 12:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidwesternDuchess/pseuds/MidwesternDuchess
Summary: Dimitri sees an old friend—a forceful dance teacher, a library companion, a secret-keeper and confidant—a sister. Edelgard sees a stranger.Or:Edelgard doesn’t just forget the origins of her dagger—she forgets her entire time in Faerghus.





	and so winter turns to spring

Claude won't stop laughing, and it's starting to bother Dimitri.

"You had them put it to a _vote?" _Claude is pacing backwards, arms tucked behind his head, keeping step with Dimitri as he strides determinedly towards the entrance of Garreg Mach.

Dimitri tugs on the clasp of his cape, tightening the strap where it secures the mantle to his shoulder. It's a nervous habit Ingrid is constantly trying to break him of by smacking his hands away whenever she's around to do it.

"It was the diplomatic thing to do," Dimitri says, marshaling his patience. He didn't want an escort for this particular trip—Dedue had been put out at being asked to stay behind, but Dimitri knows he'll be happier in the greenhouse anyway—but Claude seems to have taken his lone figure as an opportunity to tag along. Dimitri's fairly certain he sees every vacant spot as an invitation, for better or for worse. It would explain how he keeps ending up in the Blue Lion barracks, chatting up anyone who will listen. To be fair, most of the student body hasn't arrived yet—Dimitri doesn't think he's seen another Golden Deer student yet.

Claude laughs warmly, says, "A Prince playing at diplomacy. Very cute."

There's no sting in the remark—Felix has ensured Dimitri knows very well when he's being truly insulted, whereas Sylvain prefers to educate him on friendly, lighthearted teasing—but he stiffens all the same.

He spies a rocky patch in the road a few feet ahead of them, noting it's directly in Claude's backward path, and for one selfish moment, entertains the idea of doing nothing and watching him go tumbling away—a flash of gold silk and brown skin, rolling away through the wild grass, probably still somehow spouting puns as he goes.

Dimitri sighs and hooks his arm through Claude's, tugging him off course and away from the loose stones. He'd probably look just as graceful falling head-over-ass through the monastery grounds as he does every other moment of the day, the bastard.

Claude flashes an cheeky smile, kicking the potential tripping hazard away as they pass by.

"My hero," he remarks brightly, to which Dimitri rolls his eyes and drops his arm. Claude spins around, finally walking forward properly and falling into step beside Dimitri. "But really, come on. You're the Prince of Faerghus, of course you'd be House Leader! Making everyone vote on it seems _juuuuust _a little stupid, doesn't it?"

"_But...you're an Imperial Princess," _Dimitri had remarked to Edelgard, many years back, while the pair had been hiding out in a spare room of the palace so as to better spy on the ongoing diplomatic party they hadn't been permitted to attend—well, _Edelgard _had been spying, Dimitri was just there because he knew all the secret passageways, and his streak of innocent behavior lent itself to them escaping punishment better than Edelgard's penchant for always winding up in places she'd been forbidden from entering. _"Of course they'll like you."_

He'd tilted his head to the side, the way he was wont to do when he was confused. Edelgard had promptly advised him to break the habit, telling him—in no uncertain terms—that it looked like something a dog would do.

_("I like dogs," _had been Dimitri's very earnest response.)

Edelgard had huffed, stamping her foot in impatience—a habit Dimitri suggested _she _ought to break, instead of being so preoccupied with his; she'd promptly kicked him with said foot for his trouble—and crossing her arms.

"_I don't want to be liked just because of my __**title," **_she'd said, exasperated. _"I want to be liked because I'm good at what I do—a confident leader, a skilled negotiator, a successful general."_

Dimitri had nodded dutifully, not understanding _really_ what she was talking about but hoping if he agreed she'd go visit the stables with him. She'd just sighed, leveling a look of such stark resignation at him that—in retrospect—Dimitri should have been alarmed fit so well on her young face.

"_Very well," _she'd murmured, dropping her arms and offering him her hand. _"Let's go see the horses."_

"A leader ought to be chosen by merit," Dimitri tells Claude as the pair turn the corner, stealing the words straight from Edelgard herself. The gates are in sight now, and Dimitri finds he's oddly nervous—or maybe excited? He can't stop fidgeting with the clasp of his cape. If he's not careful he's going to break it. "Not status."

Claude huffs a laugh, throws Dimitri a sideways glance, and drawls, "Pretty choice words for a member of a Royal Family."

Dimitri keeps walking. "Garreg Mach is independent from the politics of surrounding countries. I'm not a Prince here." He's already corrected the gatekeeper a dozen times, politely insisting he simply call him _Dimitri. _Each time the man has responded with an enthusiastic salute and a _"yessir, Your Highness!" _Dimitri is choosing to chalk it up as a work in progress.

Claude rolls his eyes—so over-the-top his whole head rolls with the action—and tucks his arms back behind his head. Dimitri cannot for the life of him understand how such a posture is supposed to be comfortable, but then Dimitri is most at ease in a full suit of armor, so he suspects he isn't the one to ask.

"_Sure. _Just Dimitri." He offers a crooked half-smirk, eyes flashing as he looks askance at Dimitri. "We'll see how long that lasts. I'll have to start a little betting pool with the Deer when they show up."

Dimitri just shakes his head, idly annoyed. Claude isn't _bad _company, not by any stretch. He's clever, but in that sort of restrained way. Dimitri gets the impression he stops talking about a subject long before he's shared all his thoughts or knowledge on it, but—that's neither here nor there, nor any of Dimitri's business. His lips twitch. He'll be eager to see what Edelgard thinks. She always prided herself on being able to charm and impress even the most aloof of nobles.

"Why don't you go start that betting pool now?" he suggests, stopping abruptly at the final turn before the main gates and arching an eyebrow at Claude. "I have something I need to attend to, and with all respect, I'd prefer to do it alone."

Claude's lips curve into a full grin then, and Dimitri realizes this is what Claude has been after the whole time.

"Hm! So there _is _a reason the aloof, mysterious Prince of Faerghus is out and about—"

"I hardly think I'm _mysterious."_

"—all on his lonesome—"

"You are also alone, Claude."

"—in the dead of night—"

"It's...hardly even early afternoon."

Claude just smirks, lifting his chin with a kind of smug satisfaction that startles a laugh out of Dimitri.

"Whatever you're thinking Claude, it isn't that interesting." He fidgets with his clasp again—Goddess, if he _does_ break it he's never going to hear the end of it from Ingrid. "I'm meeting with someone, and I'd just like to have a moment to do so with some degree of privacy."

Claude's eyes go comically wide. Dimitri wonders, idly, if there's anything he does that _isn't _an exaggeration. It sounds exhausting—always putting one hundred and ten percent into one's emotions like that, but again—Dimitri doubts he's the expert, and Claude seems to manage just fine.

"Oh _my," _drawls Claude. "Privacy, hm? Could this be related to that new student arriving today? The _Imperial Princess?"_

He's waggling his eyebrows ridiculously now, and Dimitri suppresses a groan. He has to keep this boy away from Sylvain, if absolutely nothing else. He has better odds of surviving a dagger to the heart than surviving joint teasing from the pair of them all year.

Dimitri sighs, folds his arms, says, "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you somehow dug up what was supposed to be confidential information, but yes. I'd like to meet with Princess Edelgard _privately, _if you please."

"Oh-ho?" a dark eyebrow wings up. "Does our little Princeling have a bit of a _fancy?"_

Dimitri grimaces—he can't help it. Why everyone always assumes he and Edelgard have some sort of infatuation with each other he simply can't understand. It happened _constantly_ during her time at the Capital—someone always remarking what a "handsome pair" they made or, what "fine children" they'd produce—as if they weren't children themselves.

Dimitri clearly remembers the face Edelgard had made the first time a visiting noble had cheerfully suggested what a "beautiful bride she'd make for King Dimitri someday." Like she'd been somehow poisoned, stabbed, and set on fire, all at once.

Dimitri, personally, had never been so absolutely thrilled that someone didn't fancy him.

He'd liked Edelgard plenty when she'd lived in the Kingdom as a child—he'd adored her, really. Edelgard was so..._other. _So much bolder and more confident than anyone else Dimitri had ever met—never afraid to speak her mind or raise her voice. Like some kind of bright Imperial flame burning against the frigid backdrop of the Kingdom. He'd found her completely _fascinating—_he wagers he still will, even though it's been many years since they last saw each other.

"It's nothing like that," Dimitri says dismissively. His throat closes around the word _sister. _It isn't anyone's business, and he doesn't want to reveal anything without Edelgard's permission first. She was cagey even as a child—Dimitri doubts she's kicked the habit. "We're just...our families knew each other. We met as children."

Claude takes a moment to process this information before his nose wrinkles up in disgust.

"_Bah," _he makes shooing gestures with his hands. "That's not interesting at all, Princeling! Come on, this place is dead. I was hoping for a little _drama."_

Dimitri lifts an eyebrow, unruffled. "Sorry to disappoint. I've been reliably informed I'm very uninteresting—you'd be better off searching elsewhere."

Claude heaves another sigh—his whole body seems to deflate with the action, and Dimitri rolls his eyes—before he dutifully turns away.

"Very well," Claude says, waving over his shoulder. "Enjoy your _secret rendezvous."_

"_Claude."_

The young lord laughs as he strolls away, and Dimitri pulls the strap on his cape taut again before rounding the last turn to approach the gates of Garreg Mach.

It takes a moment to find her—the entrance to the monastery is grand, the wall of its southern border stretching several miles in both directions—when he sees the unmistakable flash of an Imperial banner and swings his head to the opposite end of the convoy—she'd always skirted walking with large escorts when she could help it, hated the attention, hated the special treatment, hated others thinking she couldn't fend for herself—

Edelgard strides purposefully through the gates, dressed in the sleek black-and-red of her House, a slim sword buckled at her hip and—

Dimitri scans her belt, but finds no sign of his gifted dagger.

He brushes the thought off just as quickly as it came—there's no reason to fuss over something like that. It had been years ago, she may have very well misplaced it, or not deemed it worthy to haul all the way to Garreg Mach. She's the Imperial Princess—she probably has more ornamental daggers than she knows what to do with. _She's _here, and that's what's important.

She catches sight of him as he makes his way towards her—part of him wants to break into a run and give her a sweeping hug, partly because he really is _that _excited and partly because he knows it will earn him an indignant _**"Dima!"**__—_but he resists, proceeding at a casual pace, arms tucked uniformly behind his back.

He notices her pause—she glances over her shoulder very quickly, almost like a reflex—before planting her feet firmly and meeting his gaze.

Edelgard looks—different. _Good _different—even in his mind, Dimitri hastens to ensure he doesn't offend—older, as one would expect, with sharp, proud features. Regal to her bones, the way he remembers. Her hair is a mystery—stark white, a paleness matched only by fresh Faerghus snow—but he softens at the sight of two ribbons tied into simple bows. Some things had remained, it seems.

Violet eyes meet his expectantly, and he bows neatly at the waist, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he waits for her to correct some aspect of his posture he's sure he's overlooked—

Silence. Cold and absolute.

Dimitri flexes his fingers awkwardly at his sides. She must be waiting for him to speak first, though he can't recall her ever once doing so. He has so many memories of her—this half-grown girl well on her way to a full-grown queen, sweeping into rooms with all the dignity of a duchess, head high, shoulders back, like she wore a crown visible only to herself, politely greeting everyone in sight with confidence and grace, recalling all their names and families and lands as though she'd been studying for weeks, which she absolutely had, Dimitri would know, she'd made him quiz her well into the night—

Dimitri abruptly realizes he's still bent over at a right angle, awaiting a greeting that's clearly not coming, and jerks himself upright, feeling a flush crawl up his neck.

"Er, Edelgard," he blurts, awkward even to his own ears. Her expression sharpens at his familiarity—from smooth marble to hewn stone—and Dimitri kicks himself. She always did insist on titles, didn't she? He scrambles to recover, bowing low once again, thankful for the excuse to hide his reddening face. Goddess—he's butchering this, isn't he? _"Princess _Edelgard, forgive me."

Nothing. Dimitri feels the skin on the back of his neck prick up in anticipation as he straightens back up, anxious. Is she put-off by his height? It's doubtful—she's always been on the smaller side, and it's never stopped her from looking everyone around her dead in the eyes.

"Ah," a shuffle of feet, an awkward shift of his weight. Edelgard gazes back at him, impassively. "Your trip from the Empire was fair, I take it?"

Here, she blinks. Once, twice—Dimitri gets the impression he's pulled her from another thought entirely as she suddenly squares her shoulders.

"Prince Dimitri," her voice is cool—flat, and sharp, like all the emotion and inflection had been neatly skimmed off the top before leaving her mouth. "Yes, my trip was perfectly adequate, thank you for asking."

Dimitri nods somewhat unsteadily—a bit cooler a greeting than he'd been expecting, but he supposes she has plenty to keep her busy. And—like most young royalty—on edge.

He offers her a genuine smile—it truly is _wonderful _to see her again—and says, "Glad to hear it. It wasn't my intention to catch you off-guard, I simply wanted to make a point to say hello." He waits a beat, offering her an opportunity to return the sentiment—it's hardly fair of him to be disappointed over her apparent indifference to their reunion, again, she's doubtlessly been busy—but it does sting a bit.

Edelgard nods, once. The action crisp and deliberate.

"Well," Dimitri deliberates—he's bursting to ask her how she's been, what the Empire's like, why her hair's changed, why she _left—_but has enough sense to understand that for whatever reason, she doesn't seem to be in a particularly talkative mood. Perhaps the trip had been more troublesome than she'd let on?

He settles for another warm smile, itching to lay his hand on her shoulder and give it a companionable squeeze like he used to. He can see in her expression he wouldn't get halfway to her person before she’d cut his whole arm clean off.

So he simply says, "It will be nice to see you regularly again, El." And means it.

Edelgard goes _stiff—_spine snapping to attention, violet eyes flipping wide and startled.

Dimitri frowns—had that not been what he'd called her when they were children? Is she so offended by an old nickname?—and opens his mouth to apologize—

A man then—appearing so suddenly Dimitri impulsively seizes the hilt at his side as he looms into view behind Edelgard. He doesn't stand taller than Dimitri—few do—but his imposing presence is enough to force the Prince back a few steps, eyeing the newcomer warily.

Edelgard makes no move to introduce him, even when Dimitri glances at her somewhat pointedly, so he clears his throat. What's one more awkward, botched introduction to round off this whole encounter?

He bows stiffly, railing against instincts that demand he maintain eye contact with the unknown figure.

"Greetings," he offers, as politely as he can, righting himself as quickly as is socially acceptable. He flexes his fingers on his sword so it appears more like a causal hold and not the grip of someone about to draw a weapon. The man's eyes—dark, narrowed, one hidden behind the irregular fall of his hair—gloss over the action, and Dimitri gets the distinct impression he hasn't been fooled.

"I am Dimitri, of Blue Lion House. A pleasure to meet you."

The man just lifts his eyebrow, and Dimitri notices he doesn't move to stand at Edelgard's side—content to station himself directly over her shoulder, half-hidden behind her. Curious, and pointedly subservient. A retainer, perhaps. Dimitri is suddenly forcefully reminded of the Dedue-shaped space at his own side.

He inclines his head politely—if shallowly—and says, "Hubert von Vestra." It takes all of Dimitri's royal schooling to not flinch at the distinct _hiss_ lurking in the man's voice. "Servant to the Imperial Princess."

Dimitri nods, still glancing somewhat oddly at Edelgard, who has not seen fit to remark on her retainer's sudden appearance or chilly greeting. She keeps staring back at Dimitri—fixing him with a look of cold calculation he does not much care for being on the receiving end of. It reminds him of the way she'd examine logs before splintering them back in Faerghus when Rodrigue had agreed to teach her something of wielding an axe.

Hubert leans forward a bit, lone eye focusing in on Dimitri in a way that could not be seen as anything other than predatory.

"It seems you've upset Lady Edelgard." His tone is easy enough—stiff with formality, the way those borne into service tend to be—but edged with that raspy coldness that forces Dimitri to stand a little taller. "I do hope you don't make a habit of that."

Edelgard lifts a hand, placating. Dimitri blinks. Is she _shaking?_ "Hubert—"

Dimitri speaks over her without thinking, posture rigid under Hubert's stare.

"If _Lady Edelgard_ has taken issue with anything I have said or done, I trust very well that she will inform me herself," he returns hotly. Distracted, he's reminded of the old dichotomy of he and Edelgard—his temper always came hot and fast and burned until he'd finished, whereas she would ice over, subzero until her rage had passed.

Edelgard's eyes spark at his interjection—anger, clearly, but some other emotion he can't place—and Hubert takes a single step—managing to move both toward Dimitri and around Edelgard in one fluid movement, an action that strikes Dimitri as distinctly _practiced—_

A gloved hand appears from behind his back—Dimitri's eyes drop to it, searching for a weapon, when some sort of dark spell flickers forth, black flames licking along his fingers—

Hubert says, "Perhaps I ought to be a bit more _clear—" _and Dimitri goes for his sword while Edelgard seems frozen to the spot—

"_Well. _What have we here?"

Claude's voice—completely unmistakable and aptly timed, as always—as the lord himself saunters into view like he'd been tucked away watching the whole time, just waiting for the best moment to make his entrance. Dimitri grimaces as Claude throws one arm around his shoulders, offering Edelgard and Hubert a crooked grin. That's probably _exactly_ what he'd been doing.

Both Edelgard and Hubert assess Claude as he comfortably inserts himself into their space, twirling an arrow with his free hand as he lounges against Dimitri like he's little more than a garden wall, remarking, "I've been looking everywhere for you, your Princeliness."

Dimitri, who has cast a cursory glance at his surroundings and spotted what he believes is the bush Claude was more than likely lurking in, cocks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Claude hums affirmatively. Hubert's eyes are caught on the glinting point of his spinning arrow, while Edelgard hasn't let Dimitri out of her sight.

"Yep. That swordsman of yours—the one who always looks like a cat that's been thrown in a lake? He picked a fight with a couple of monastery guards, and, well," Claude spreads the fingers of his free hand in a gesture of helplessness. Dimitri can't see the gleam in his eye from their contrasting angles, but he can tell by the way Hubert stiffens that he's noticed it. "They outnumber him pretty badly. You know I'm no fan of an unfair fight."

Dimitri considers this briefly, noting that for one thing: Claude's story is entirely plausible—Felix can and will pick a fight with anyone and any_thing_—and another: he doubts very seriously Claude has any real reservations about the fairness of fights.

But most importantly: it seems Claude has just provided both a viable excuse for stepping in, with an additional muted reminder to the Imperial pair before him that students openly picking fights on Garreg Mach grounds isn't the best idea for anyone—particularly when the students in question include one hundred percent of the monastery's attending high nobility.

Edelgard is still peering at Dimitri—he can't place her expression, it's so clouded by the prevalent anger he'd apparently sparked—but Claude pokes him in the ribs with his arrowhead.

"_Ow."_

"Go check on your swordsman, Just Dimitri," Claude drawls, while Dimitri indignantly twists to get a view of his side and see if Claude drew blood. "Before he gets himself thrown in the fish pond."

Edelgard says, "We'll be taking our leave as well," and Dimitri glances up to try and catch her eyes, finding her already staring back at him, tracing his face like she's searching him for something.

Claude bows—low and exaggerated, arm still hooked around Dimitri's shoulders and therefore dragging him down into the formal gesture as well—and by the time they've straightened up, the pair has left.

Dimitri frowns after them, absently rubbing his side as Claude drops his arm, letting out a long, low whistle as he watches them go.

"Intense," he remarks, to which Dimitri only scoffs. Claude turns, arching an eyebrow at him. "No offense, but that didn't look like a reunion of childhood friends."

"No," Dimitri agrees, finally releasing his grip on his sword's hilt. He held it so tightly he dented the metal. "It didn't."

Claude opens his mouth, seems to think better of it, snaps it shut, and turns to realign the clasp of Dimitri's cloak where it had been knocked astray.

"Word of advice?" Claude lifts an eyebrow, fixing Dimitri with a disarmingly serious look before going back to cheerfully fussing with his uniform. "Stay away from that guy. He'd gut you in a back alley—no question."

Dimitri nods faintly, craning his neck to follow Edelgard and Hubert as they approach Garreg Mach proper—neither take a backwards glance.

"Yes," he agrees, frowning. "I rather got that impression myself."

Claude says, "Well!" and slaps Dimitri's chest before stepping away, flashing his usual grin. "Some of the Deer are rolling in today, so I won't be around to keep you alive. Maybe make use of that walking brick wall that seems so attached to you?" He cocks his head. "Your head's too pretty to go on a pike, you know."

Dimitri nods again, only half-listening. Before she makes the final turn on the monastery grounds, Edelgard does in fact glance over her shoulder—frowning when she finds him already looking back.

It is not, the Prince notes grimly as she quickly turns away, the face of someone who knows him.

**Author's Note:**

> still caught in 3H’s death grip even though I haven’t picked up the game in like literal weeks!!!
> 
> anyway _hi there_ this is not the fic I was planning on writing but then my life absolutely fucking imploded and I needed to write _something_ before I lost my whole ass mind so here we are. an AU I’ve been kicking around since I discovered via the wiki that EDELGARD DOESN’T FUCKING REMEMBER THE ORIGIN OF THE DAGGER DIMITRI GAVE HER which is tragic on its own, and I assume probably a result of the Crest experiments just like fucking yeeting parts of her memory, so in my eternal quest to Make It Sadder, I thought: what if she forgot more than that? what if she forgot everything? and so here we are. I fudged some of the exact times and dates and years of the game but it’s all canon-compliant as long as you like don’t think too hard about it.
> 
> idk how much time I’m going to put into this, I have at least one more chapter planned but it really depends on feedback! not trying to pressure anyone to like, engage with it or anything it’s just I have a lot of 3H fic ideas kicking around and would rather work on the ones the majority of people are interested in since my free time to write is hella limited
> 
> you can read WIPs and cut lines and listen to me yell on twitter over at [@reduxwriter](http://twitter.com/reduxwriter). you’re always welcome to shoot me an @
> 
> fair warning: this AU is kinda designed to resonate hardest from the perspective of the Blions Route, because Dimitri talks about Edelgard more than Edelgard talks about Dimitri. so if you haven’t played Blue Lions, one: uh hi spoilers and two: idk if this fic is going to punch you as hard as it otherwise would. just a head’s up!
> 
> okay that’s all going back to my cave bye kids have a good day <3
> 
> <strike>also I feel like this should be obvious but just in case THIS IS NOT SHIPPY/ROMANTIC IN ANY WAY NOR WILL IT BECOME THAT. if you ship it that’s a-okay I’m all about ship and let ship but this is The Most Siblingly-Platonic fic just wanted to clear that up okay thanks</strike>


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